Anecdotes
by MegStrayer
Summary: September is expelled from the ranks of the Observers. When he suffers adverse effects from the removal of his implant, he seeks out Dr. Walter Bishop to receive medical attention and to continue working on their plan. The two come to enjoy one another's company - September makes his first real friend. Lightly romantic in later chapters. Content warning for some drug use.
1. Novelty

_And in an infinite regress_

 _Tell me why is the pain of birth_

 _Lighter borne than the pain of death?_

* * *

When Captain Windmark strapped September down, he simply closed his eyes as if drifting off into a peaceful sleep. He felt a faint discomfort from how roughly Windmark handled him, but no fear. He wanted to thank his superior for what he was about to do, but saw that if he did, the Captain would not go through with it.

"Is there anything more you have to say for yourself, September?" Windmark asked with a tilt of his head.

September drew in a calm breath. "I have acted in the interest of all living things, rather than our kind alone. I believed they deserved a chance against us, as all living things are entitled to defend themselves."

Windmark drew his knife. "You will cease to belong to _our kind_ in less than sixty seconds. Prepare yourself, September." There was a trace of a sadistic growl behind his slow, hushed monotone – a sign of his own vestigial emotionality. September nodded. His willingness to cooperate with his punishment must have agitated Windmark somehow. He felt the knife press into the back of his neck. He felt the warmth of his own blood, but no pain, at least not until he saw Windmark holding his device out of the corner of his eye. He then felt a dull, concentrated ache spread through his entire body. It rapidly grew sharper, causing him to convulse and scream out in a manner he had never done before, at least as far as he could remember. His hands writhed and he moved to clutch his head, but his restraints prevented him. Windmark gave him a faint look of disgust, snapped the device in half between his fingers, and then delivered a blow to the side of September's head. The pain jarred him and added on to what he was already experiencing, but it did not last long. Everything went dark. While he was unconscious, two other Observers patched him up and took him to a laboratory. They kept him heavily sedated as they ran various tests and documented his brain functioning.

"We can release him. There is nothing more to be found at this point in time. We will check again at a later time," one said.

They carried him away and left him in a place close to where the others took him from.

September woke up on an old bench in a park. His return to consciousness was anything but gradual. Rather, it seized him like an electrical charge. The sun burned his eyes and the air chilled his flesh. The sounds of engines rattled in his brain and all he could do was clutch his face and scream through gritted teeth. When he wrapped his hands around his temples, he noticed one side of his head was extremely sore. This only aggravated his nerves further, and he thrashed against the bench in desperation. It made no sense to try and alleviate pain with more pain, but his body compelled him to regardless. He flailed until he had no more energy to do so. He went limp and panted heavily. He felt a raw sensation throughout his nerves and a burning sensation in his face. He knew he needed to find a safe place to stay. Anybody could claim him as an easy target if they saw him in his current state, and he was certain the other Observers would watch him as he transitioned into an ordinary human, documenting every detail. He felt the need to avoid them to the best of his ability. Still, he could not bring himself to move, or even form the words with which to call out for help. He squeezed his eyes shut as more waves of sensation washed over his body and mind; some hot and bright, some cold and dark. Oddly, these opposing sensations were admixed at times. He identified them as "urgency" and "despair."

About an hour passed by, and he felt the warmth of somebody's hand on top of his own. "Hey," a voice spoke. He identified the voice as female – petulant, neither particularly young nor old. He didn't open his eyes fully as sight was still too much for him to process, so he only had a blurry image of her. "What happened to you? You're awfully well-dressed for a bum." She sounded confused.

September drew in a ragged breath and pulled his limbs close to his body. He forced himself to open his eyes more to make brief eye contact with the woman. "I do not know," he lied.

"Where's your hair? You on chemo?" She asked.

He paused. "…It is a genetic anomaly." He thought it interesting how easy lying came to him.

"Uh-huh. You're injured," she said. "Looks like there's a good chance you could have a concussion."

"How do you know?"

"Look at your head."

September groaned and opened his eyes again. The woman pulled a compact mirror from her coat pocket and opened it up for him to look into. He saw a large, dark bruise covering much of the left side of his head, all the more visible for his pallor and hairlessness. He nodded in acknowledgement.

"So, how did that happen?" The woman asked.

He paused. "I told you, I do not know."

The woman gave him a disgruntled look and shook her head. "Well… is there anywhere for you to go? A hospital, perhaps? I mean, that'd be _my_ first choice."

He squinted and attempted to recall the last human-run place where he received attention for an injury. "The laboratory," he said.

" _Which_ laboratory? There are _thousands_ of laboratories in the world." The woman grew frustrated and put a hand on her hip.

He paused. "The one in the Kresge building," he blurted out. He realized he wasn't sure if he was in or even anywhere near Boston and lowered his gaze.

"At Harvard?"

A sensation of warmth and lightness flickered through him, and he nodded.

The woman smirked. "Kresge building it is, then. Come on."

"Do you know your way there?"

"I can find it," she replied.

"Good." September forced himself onto his feet and followed the woman to her car.

"Get in the back seat," she said. "It's probably best if you lie down. You look exhausted."

September nodded and did as she suggested. The motion of the car against the bumpy road made him slightly queasy, but deep breathing alleviated this sensation.

The woman could hear him. "You all right back there?"

"I am sorry," he muttered. "Everything, every sensation is so over-powering."

"You got a brain condition or something? Autism or somethin' like that?" she asked.

"None that I know of."

"Oh, well. Ask your laboratory people about it. If they're even in there…" She stopped the car. "Speakin' of which, we're here. You need any help?"

September rose into a sitting position and paused. "No, thank you." He opened the door and shuffled towards the building, shielding his eyes from the sun.

He knocked at the door of Dr. Bishop's lab and held his breath. Walter opened the door with a surprised look on his face. He stared for a moment. "September? Since when do you knock on doors? Where have you been? You came to warn me about the other Observers, and we began to-"

September went pale and he fell to his knees with a shudder. Walter rushed to steady him and pull him back onto his feet. "What's happened to you?" He asked, lowering his voice. "You're injured again. Taken a blow to the head, I see. You can't seem to stay out of trouble, can you?"

"Look at the back of my neck," September muttered.

Walter did as he was told, and saw a freshly-sutured surgical wound. "A-ha. Have you undergone some type of surgery as well?"

"The others and I… Our abilities are powered by technology. My device has been removed." He swallowed. "My abilities are gone, and in their place, I feel pain, confusion…and many other things I cannot accurately describe, as I do not know which words you ascribe to each sensation. I feel… _overwhelmed_." Though he tried to remain calm, his voice shook as he spoke.

Walter nodded. "The technology that made you an Observer must have dulled particular aspects of your nervous system, and in its absence, you are experiencing these aspects in full force. Exponentially more than what we ordinary humans experience! How fascinating…"

"This is hardly fascinating for me." September felt a burning sensation in his eyes, accompanied by constriction in his chest.

Walter felt a pang of guilt. He realized the other man must have been punished for trying to help him, and felt it was the least he could do to offer him some assistance. "Let me check your vitals," Walter said. He led September to the examination table and laid him down. He noticed a look of anxiety cross the former Observer's face. "I understand you may be uncomfortable with medical procedures at the moment… Such discomfort is something I am no stranger to myself! But, I assure you, I mean you no harm." He placed a hand on September's shoulder and set to examining him.

"You've got quite the knot on your head, but there doesn't appear to be any damage to your brain. Your body temperature and blood pressure are elevated," Walter explained once he was done with his examination. "Nothing that won't subside with a few days of rest, perhaps some sedatives. Fortunately, I have no shortage of _those_. However, your blood sugar is very low. How long has it been since you've eaten anything?"

September merely grimaced at the thought of eating, attuning to a tight, gnawing sensation in his stomach. He turned away.

"Quite some time, then, I presume!" Walter chuckled. "You need to eat something."

"I do not feel that I can."

"That is a problem, then, isn't it? Perhaps something to drink first. Peppermint tea?" Walter suggested.

"Pepper…mint?" He'd heard the name before, but had never tried anything containing it.

"A common herb containing menthol. It has quite the opposite effect of the capsaicin-rich substances that your kind are so accustomed to consuming. Which is to say, it cools your insides down, rather than warming them up!" Walter explained. "Or, at least, it feels that way. The tricks chemicals can play on us," he mused.

September nodded. "I will try it."

Walter immediately fixed him a mug of the tisane, gave it a few minutes to cool, and handed it to him. September sat up and took a sip, and his eyes went wide. "It is warm, and yet it feels like ice," he said. He savored the taste of it – there was sharpness and sweetness to it at once. Before, he had only been able to taste spice, salt, and the metallic flavor of blood. The flavor and warmth of the liquid were the first new sensations he found pleasant. "Thank you, Dr. Bishop." He took a few more sips and then set it down on a nearby table.

"You are most welcome," Walter answered as he prepared a slice of toast for September. He spread a small amount of butter on it and placed it on a plate which he then set in September's lap. "Here. At least try to eat a small amount."

September picked up the toast and bit into it. It was not flavorful like the peppermint, but the soft, yet grainy texture was enjoyable enough. More importantly, it went down easily and gave him enough nourishment that he no longer felt quite as disoriented as he did before.

"Any better?" Walter asked.

"Yes, somewhat. My head still hurts, and my muscles, they feel… they feel as though they are burning."

Walter sighed. "It is to be expected."

"How long do you believe this will last? Before I adjust to being like you and the others?"

"Well, according to what I know of the regeneration of the nervous system, at least after being affected by long-term chemical use, about thirty days. Hah! Thirty days hath September." He paused. "I'm joking with you, I have no idea. Your issue is the result of the removal of a device that I don't even know the structure or elemental make-up of."

"Is there someplace I can stay?" September asked. "I do not wish to impose, but the others appear to have left me to my own devices."

"You may stay with me. Peter has moved in with Olivia, so I have space to spare," Walter said.

"Thank you," September said, finishing his toast and tea. "We need to resume our work," he said after a long pause. "That is why I have come back here. The most important part…" He leaned forward and began to tense up. His eyes were wide and delirious, which Walter noticed immediately.

Walter made stern eye contact with September and placed his hands on both of his shoulders. "It can wait until you are stable. Rest. Do not push yourself."

September relaxed, gave a reluctant nod, then laid back down on to the examination table and curled up. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep when he felt something cold on his head. He opened his eyes to see Walter placing an ice pack over the bruised area, and promptly closed them again. His mind raced with thoughts, but he tried his best to ignore them for the sake of regaining his strength.


	2. Memory

_And Time, in our camp, is moving_

 _As you'd anticipate it to_

 _But what is this sample proving?_

 _Anecdotes cannot say what Time will do._

* * *

Despite all of Walter's attempts to make him comfortable – soft, loose clothing, a warm bed, a quiet, curtained room with an electric fan – September woke up in tears. He couldn't tell what was more painful; the unfamiliarity of the process itself, or the series of images that triggered it. He gripped the sheets until he tore a small hole in them. It was not long until Walter entered the room.

"September, what is the matter with you?" He asked with urgency in his voice. He paused, acknowledging that he had just finished preparing some food when he heard September gasping for air. He never had an aptitude for performing tasks quietly, and he wondered if he had disturbed the man's currently-fragile senses. "…Have I been too loud?"

September gave no response. Walter put a hand on his back. His muscles were stiff, yet they vibrated. "It appears you are having some sort of panic attack, something along those lines... Don't worry. You stay right here, I have just the thing for you." September turned over to look at Walter through water-clouded eyes. His mind was full of images of his progeny. During his time as an Observer, he constantly thought of him and his abilities. He hid him from the others, keeping an eye on him from a distance and checking on him whenever he could. Without his tech, he could no longer do this. The reality had set in and his mind raced – what had become of him? What _would_ become of him? He opened his mouth to speak, but he could not manage to through his ragged breathing.

Walter squeezed September's upper arms. "I will be right back."

Walter returned with a bottle of pills and a plastic cup of water. He removed two tablets from the bottle and placed them on the nightstand. "September, I'm going to need you to take a few deep breaths so that you will be able to swallow these."

He did as he was told, but it took some time before the muscles in his face and throat loosened at all.

"Here you are," Walter said as he handed September the tablets and the water. "Do it quickly, they are quite bitter!"

Walter had not lied. September tossed the pills back with a gulp of water, but he gagged at their flavor and nearly spat them back up. He clenched his jaw and managed to keep them inside of himself.

"There you go. _Four_ milligrams of alprazolam. You should feel _perfectly_ relaxed in about fifteen minutes. Shall I stay with you until then?" Walter asked.

"Yes," September whispered as he lay back down and faced the wall, still trembling.

The drugs took hold. September's breathing steadied, his muscles relaxed, and he rolled over to face Walter with heavy eyelids.

"Are you feeling any better?" Walter asked as he looked down at the other man.

"We need to find him," September slurred. Though he appeared sluggish, his forehead bore creases of worry.

Walter made a puzzled face and tilted his head. "Find who?"

"My progeny. The most important part of our plan."

"I was under the impression your kind did not reproduce," Walter said.

"We… Well, _they_ don't. Not in the same way as you do. Regardless, we need to find him. He is special, Dr. Bishop," he said.

Walter smiled. "Well…all children are special. Never have I heard of a _child_ who was not _special!_ " His eyes lit up and his smile broadened as he thought of Peter, and of his grand-daughter, Henrietta. He let out an involuntary chuckle.

September nodded. "I know this is a pervasive belief of human parents, even those as objectively-minded as you, Dr. Bishop. But, he is particularly special. What I warned you about… I believe he can prevent it, and I have for some time. I saw him as I slept. I saw his purpose unfold in my mind, as I did before the others discovered what I was doing, but more vividly... I believe you call this phenomenon a dream."

"Yes. A dream. Dreams can be quite meaningful, and shockingly conducive to problem-solving. Though, yours seem to have troubled you." Walter looked down. "Do you love him?" He asked. "Your son, that is."

September closed his eyes and sighed. "I do not know. I am still unfamiliar with such things. I may, but if I do, I have not learned to acknowledge it clearly."

"I think you do. Or, at least, you _will_." Walter looked at September's face and noted the unmistakable expression of dissatisfaction. "So…" He lowered his voice and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward towards September. "How is it that he can prevent the invasion you warned me about?"

September paused. "…The others have traded emotions for highly advanced logic and the ability to move through time. Without concern for how they are treating the world around them, they will eventually render it uninhabitable and be forced to colonize this era. I imagine they will simply repeat this cycle in perpetuity," he explained. "But, my progeny, with his capacity for advanced logic as well as empathy I believe if he is present at the right point in time, that cycle can be broken. I believe we can make this happen. The two of us," he explained as he struggled to keep his eyes open under the influence of the benzodiazepines.

Walter nodded. "We will find him. I trust that you have kept him somewhere safe. I still insist you focus on your own recovery for now. I will do what I can to find your son in the meantime – perhaps the Division can help us."

For the first time, September cracked a genuine, full-fledged smile.

Walter smiled back, relieved to see September feeling even the slightest bit better and somewhat beguiled by the gentleness he saw in the man's once-blank eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you right now? I just finished making a meal for myself, and I would not mind sharing."

September sat up. "I will have just a bit, thank you."

Walter nodded, left the room, and returned with two plates, each containing half of a vegetable omelet sprinkled with tabasco and a soft buttered roll. He handed one to September, and held on to the other one as he sat down in a chair across from the bed.

September ate the contents of the plate more eagerly than he himself anticipated. "Good to see you're regaining an appetite," Walter remarked. "It could be the work of the sedatives. Sometimes our anxieties have the nasty habit of making us forget our most basic needs. I would recommend you slow down a bit, though."

September complied. "This is very good. You have quite a talent," he said.

"Thank you," Walter replied.


	3. Designation

_And how long did you climb that night_

 _With the ice in your lungs on the rungs of the light?_

 _Beyond recall, you severed all strings_

 _To everyone and everything._

* * *

Despite his overwhelming tiredness and erratic moods which made it nearly impossible to concentrate, September found it equally difficult to simply rest as Dr. Bishop continued to insist. He came to remember where he had hidden his son, but had no way of knowing whether or not he was still there. The fear of the other Observers finding the boy weighed heavily on his mind. He could feel his heart racing – he could even see its motion through his shirt. He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling until he could hold still no longer. He got up, trudged across the hallway, and knocked on Walter's bedroom door. He stood staring at his feet until he saw a light come on from underneath the door. The door opened.

"September? What are you doing out of bed? It's one in the morning, and you're still-"

"I feel fine," September interrupted.

"Well, you don't look fine! You're sweating profusely. Come on." Walter stepped out and moved to lead September back to the other bedroom.

"I cannot sleep anymore, Dr. Bishop. It is most of what I have done for the past thirty hours," he said. He looked Walter in the eyes. "I remember where the boy is."

Walter paused. "Excellent! That is excellent news. However, it's still very late. This is no time to be traveling, especially not in your condition."

September squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. He was still sore and feverish. Moving was more of an effort than he would admit. "I am fine," he insisted once again.

"You are just like Agent Dunham," Walter muttered. "Prideful and _ungodly_ stubborn. Please, go back to sleep. If you don't rest, you could suffer complications from the procedures you've gone through."

"I am finding it impossible, Dr. Bishop."

Walter smirked. "In all honesty, I am having some difficulty myself. Would you like to watch something?"

"Watch…?"

"You know, like a movie? Do you enjoy movies?" Walter asked.

"I have seen a few. They were interesting," September said. "I no longer remember much of them, however."

"Come with me," Walter said, walking towards the living room. September followed. The scientist pulled a large box of VHS tapes from beside the TV set. "This is my collection," he beamed. The "collection" was in absolute disorder, with corners of tapes sticking out of the box every which way. "Would you like to look through it?"

The lack of order bothered September. When he looked at the box, it felt as though scores of lights went off sporadically inside of his brain, each beaming in a different direction. "No, thank you. You make the decision."

Walter dug his hand into the box with his face turned away. September eyed him with curiosity – the man was selecting at random. "Here we are!" Walter piped up as he presented the tape to September.

"Singing In The Rain," he read off the cover. "Do they …actually sing?"

"Yes. Yes, they do, it is a musical."

"Intriguing."

"I take it you don't mind that, then?" Walter asked.

"No," September replied. He sat down on the small couch as fatigue overtook him once again.

"All right, then." Walter put the tape into the VHS player that was embedded into the small TV set, pressed "play", and turned off all of the lights in the room except for one small lamp on a table across from the couch. He knelt in front of the table, opened a drawer, and pulled out three small items that September could not see from where he sat. Whatever they were, he noticed at least one of them had a fairly strong, yet not unpleasant odor.

"What is that?" He asked.

"Something I've always found goes well with a good movie. Or, in many cases, even a bad one," Walter replied as he removed some plant matter from a plastic bag and stuffed it into a small glass pipe. He took a lighter to it and inhaled as he sat down next to September. "Would you like to try some? It may help you to relax. It may even lower that stubborn temperature of yours…"

September sniffed the air. The sour, burnt odor of the smoke bore little resemblance to the musky-sweet fragrance he had noticed coming from the plant itself, which disappointed him a bit. "Will the smoke not have adverse effects?"

"Other than a bit of coughing, I would expect not. Here," Walter said, handing him the pipe.

September hesitated for a moment, and then took it from Walter's hand. Its contents were still lit with an orange-red glow.

"Breathe in, go on," Walter said. "Be sure to hold your breath."

September did as he was told, and exhaled, coughing loudly as he did so. It took him a moment to catch his breath. Once he did, he began to feel warm inside. His vision blurred slightly, but without dizziness. He smiled and leaned back, focusing on the film. The characters' interactions were curious to him, like nothing he had witnessed in any era of the real world. He could not help but laugh. "Why is it they behave this way? It is so exaggerated," he said.

"Well, this is a _comedy_. Hence why you are _laughing_ ," Walter said with a playful shove to September's shoulder. Walter took another hit, and September did as well.

"The music is quite enjoyable," September remarked.

"I couldn't agree more."

As the film wore on, September grew drowsier and leaned against Walter's body without realizing it. In Walter's current state, all touch was pleasant, and he did not mind the weight of the other man. He smiled and wrapped an arm across his shoulders, pulling him onto his chest. "Is this more comfortable or less?" He asked. He realized contact such as this could help expedite September's transition into humanity – this may have been just what he needed. Still, he did not wish to overwhelm him.

"It is more comfortable," September said between slow breaths.

"Good." Walter paused, noticing something on the other man's head. "September. You've started growing hair," he said with a smile.

"I have?" He asked. He hadn't occasioned to look in any mirrors yet.

"You're blond. Or, you will be, once it comes in fully. Dirty blond, I'm presuming."

"Hmm. It does not sound like a particularly pleasant color," September said, focusing on the word "dirty."

"It will suit your complexion nicely," Walter said, hugging him carefully.

September wasn't sure why Walter was handling him in this way, but for all its unfamiliarity, nothing about it felt unnatural. Though he was on the verge of sleep, a part of his mind felt more awake – more aware. Despite his intoxication, he felt grounded in a way he never had before.

The credits rolled. September noticed the name of the actor who had played the character he'd most enjoyed – "Donald O'Connor."

"Dr. Bishop?"

Walter had fallen into a light sleep, but he snapped awake when he heard his name. "Yes? And, by the way, you're living under my roof, however temporarily… You may call me Walter."

"I do not believe I should go by the designation 'September' any longer, Walter," he said.

Walter nodded. "Hmm, it is rather unusual as a person's name, isn't it?"

"Even if that were not the case, I wish to leave my old life behind. I would like to use the name of the man who played Cosmo," he explained.

Walter laughed softly and rubbed the former Observer's shoulder, taking care to avoid touching the sutured slit on his neck. "Very well, then, _Donald_."


	4. Progeny

_The moment of your greatest joy sustains:_  
 _not axe nor hammer,_  
 _tumor, tremor,_  
 _can take it away, and it remains._  
 _It remains._

 _And it pains me to say, I was wrong._  
 _Love is not a symptom of time._  
 _Time is just a symptom of love._

* * *

September, now "Donald", woke up to a soft pile of something landing on his chest.

"Here you are! New clothes!" Walter exclaimed. "I figured you needed something other to wear than that suit… Don't worry, I assure you they'll fit! I took your measurements while you slept."

A look of pure excitement crossed Donald's face as he sat up and examined the clothing. "Thank you, Walter. I really appreciate this. I feel that I may owe you."

Walter felt relieved by Donald's reaction. He was used to others meeting his unsolicited gestures of kindness with bewilderment or exasperation, particularly Astrid and Peter. "You owe me nothing! You're helping me save the world. You could ask me for just about anything, and I would think nothing of it." Walter leaned down and patted Donald's shoulder. "Also, I got you these." He reached into his pocket and presented a pair of sunglasses. "I figured your eyes may still be sensitive."

Donald nodded with a slight laugh. "Thank you. They were even when I had my device. Sensitive, that is. It's just worse now. I'm feeling much better today, though, in general."

Walter smiled, noting the small change in his friend's speech. Contractions – something Observers rarely used. The cadence of his speech had become slightly more fluid, as well. "Good. That's good to hear."

Donald went on. "I was always a bit of an anomaly. My differences were subtle enough to pass under their radar. While my senses were dulled much like those of the others, it was never quite to the same extent. It was easy enough for me to hide. Had that not been the case, well, I would most likely not be here right now. The boy, however…" He sighed. "He was a different story."

"Do tell me," said Walter.

"He has a capacity for emotion far beyond that of…Observers and humans alike, while retaining the potential for super-human calculation that Observers have. This was unacceptable. He never had a cortical implant installed and he was to be destroyed. Killed. We come from a time when any emotion will be viewed as a hindrance," Donald explained. "My guess is that the pattern behind his atypical nature started with my heightened capacity for perception… again, still quite low, but somewhat above average by their standards. He is _well_ above average. By all standards."

Walter nodded along as Donald spoke of his son. Ideas flitted through his brain, but all he could think to say was "Does he have a name?"

"…No. The others called him Anomaly XB-6783746."

"How unfortunate," Walter said, looking down.

"Walter. I feel well enough to retrieve him. I know where he is, I remember. Please," Donald said. "We will need to hide him again elsewhere at a later time, but I…" The corner of his lip skewed. "I need to see him now. When I hid him, I was in a rush. I was not thinking of his comfort, only his survival."

Walter arched an eyebrow. "Where is it that you hid him, exactly?"

"The basement of an old warehouse in this area." He drew in a sharp breath. "I realize this may not have been … healthy for him. I feel strange. As if I am expecting a punishment."

Walter placed a firm hand on Donald's shoulder. "You were desperate, Sep- ah, … Donald. What you are feeling is guilt, but you don't need to. You had his best interests in mind. Considering these circumstances, however, we must get to him quickly. You are correct in your suspicion that a warehouse basement is _not_ a healthy environment, especially for a child."

Donald's face tensed up visibly.

"Don't worry, Donald. If anything happens to be wrong with the boy, I can help him, just as I'm helping you."

Warmth coursed through Donald's body and his arms felt as though they were charged with electricity. He compulsively wrapped them around Walter. "Thank you," he whispered as he released him. "Shall we go?"

"Yes. You lead the way," Walter whispered, surprised by the contact.

Donald nodded and wrote down the address of the building. Walter arranged for a taxi to take them there.

When they arrived, they saw a pair of construction workers leaving the building. They paid no mind to them and continued towards the door.

"Hey! You two! You can't go in there, that building's condemned," one of them called out. "We just cleared it out for demolition. You go in there, you'll be dead."

Donald went pale and froze in his tracks. "There's something in there I need to see," he told the construction worker.

"What did I just tell you, cue-ball? Do your urban exploration or whatever they call it someplace else, this place is done for."

The other worker's eyes went wide and he tilted his head. His co-worker turned towards him. "Hey, what's the matter with _you_?"

He stood in place with his brows furrowed and his mouth hanging open. "There's somethin' wrong. Something's wrong. I feel like I've forgotten something. I've gotta go back in."

"Oh, come _on_! We checked this building over-"

The other worker ran past his partner and back inside the building. Donald sprinted in after him. Walter remained outside the building, having drifted off into thought during the interactions of the other three men.

"Aren't you gonna go in after him?!" The construction worker asked Walter.

"…Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. About your co-worker," Walter deadpanned. The construction worker squeezed his eyes with the palm of his hand.

Inside the building, the other construction worker stomped on the floor. Donald stood in the doorway, watching him.

"I know where the soft spot is," Donald said.

The worker turned towards him and arched an eyebrow. "Do you, now? You got something to do with this? What have you done to this place? _What's happening to me_?"

"Just trust me," he said as he walked to the corner of the room. "Right here." He slammed his heel against the floor harder than he intended to, and fell through. He landed on the concrete with a strained growl.

The construction worker rushed to look down into the hole. "You all right down there? Just wait, I'll get someone to pull you out."

Donald did not reply. He winced in pain and tried to pull himself up. His consciousness threatened to slip away from him – he still was not accustomed to the pain of injury. As he struggled to rise to his feet, a child, naked and completely hairless, clutched his hand. Donald made eye contact and recognized him immediately. "You're safe," he breathed through clenched teeth. The child knelt next to him, and he felt his pain subside a bit.

Minutes later, the construction team returned to pull Donald and the boy from the basement. The construction worker who felt compelled to run into the building supported Donald until they found a place for him and his child to sit down. Walter followed them in silence and removed his coat to drape over the child's naked form.

"Listen, buddy, I don't know what just happened, but… You gonna be okay?" The construction worker asked.

Donald looked up. "Yes, I believe so."

"So, who's the kid? He looks an awful lot like you. Y'know, I saw a documentary about a family who had some kind of genetic condition. Alo-somethin' or other. You two kinda remind me of 'em," he said. "'Cept you've got a bit of fuzz on you."

Donald shrugged. "It is of no importance to you. Please, return to your life and forget this ever happened," he said with a meek smile.

"Well, that's a bit of a tall order considering this is some pretty weird shit, but I'll try. You take care of yourself, okay?"

Donald nodded. "And yourself as well."

The workers walked off, chattering under their breath to one another.

Walter turned to Donald. "Are you all right?"

"I am having a difficult time moving my left shoulder without pain, and it is painful to walk as well," Donald replied. "I will be fine. I am more concerned about him," he said, tilting his head towards his son who simply stared at the two of them.

Walter nodded. "Right. Let's get the two of you to the lab."

When they arrived at the lab, Walter set Donald's shoulder back into place and gave him an injection of morphine. He then began examining the boy. The child remained silent the entire time, but he looked nervous. His eyes were fixed on his father, who drifted in and out of sleep, only coming into a semblance of wakefulness to scratch a persistent itch on his cheeks. "He'll be just fine," Walter reassured the child. "Your father is very strong. He has been through things I cannot even imagine within this past week, things he is still healing from, and yet he insisted on going out to retrieve you today. He loves you," he said. The boy smiled, appearing to understand completely.

Walter discovered the child was healthy aside from some slight malnutrition and intolerance to the oxygen-rich environment he was pulled into. He remedied these issues by feeding him a small meal and hooking him up to a portable tank of air more suited to his needs. He would gradually introduce him to more oxygen over time. As soon as he set the air tank up, he heard a knock at the door. "I will be right back. Just rest," he said.

He stepped outside to greet the person at the door. He saw a tall, olive-skinned woman who had long, brown hair with a stripe of green in it. Her eyes darted about and her hands were stuffed inside her pockets. "Yo, you work here?" She asked Walter.

"This is _my_ lab," he replied. "Who might you be?"

"Doesn't matter," she said, then shook her head. "Ya happen to see a weird, sickly lookin' guy come in here about a week ago? With literally no hair whatsoever? I dropped him off near this building, he told me he was tryin' to get in here. He was real nervous, I think he was off his hinges. I'm really regrettin' it, I shoulda just taken him to the damn hospital… He was all beat up," she rambled. She looked down at her feet, which she bounced and swayed on as she spoke.

Walter looked her over with confusion and then realized she was referring to Donald. "Oh! No, no, he's fine. He's staying with me. He's a friend of mine, he's going through some difficult times."

"All right. That's good, I guess. I'm Amelia Leitao," she said, extending her hand.

He took her hand. "And I'm Dr. Walter Bishop."

"Oh, holy shit! _The_ Dr. Bishop. The Dr. Bishop who worked with _William Bell_. Wait 'til I tell my li'l sister Miranda I met _you_ , she's _all_ about unusual activity in science-land. Big conspiracy theorist. You two were all she talked about for like, a year. Anyway, glad to hear the guy's okay. It was weighin' pretty bad on my conscience there. Keepin' me up at night."

"Well, you've nothing to worry about, Ms. Leighton," Walter replied, patting her on the arm. "Thank you for bringing him here. It really was the safest place for him." When he fully processed everything she said, he frowned involuntarily at the mention of William Bell.

"I see. You're welcome. And, it's Leit _ao_ ," she corrected. "What do I care, though? It's a dumb name. Means 'baby pig.' Get it as wrong as you want."

"Interesting. My friend is here now, would you like to come in and see him? We could have some snacks together," he suggested. "I am sure he would be grateful for a visit."

Amelia smirked and shook her head. "No thanks, man. I've gotta run, I was just makin' sure I didn't screw up by bringin' him here. Peace!" With that, she strode off with her hands buried in her pockets as deep as they would go.

Walter re-entered the lab to find the boy petting Gene, the cow. He laughed. "She's quite friendly, isn't she?"

The boy turned to him and smiled.

Donald eased out of his morphine-induced stupor and sat up. "Hmm… Walter. Is he all right?"

Walter blinked, somewhat surprised to hear Donald's voice. It took him a few moments to realize he was referring to his son. "Oh! Yes, he is fine. Much like yourself, he will need some time to adjust to a new environment, but no irreparable damage appears to be done. He does not speak, however – did he never learn?"

Donald's cheeks lifted slightly. "He has never spoken. He has not aged since I hid him. I do not believe this indicates anything wrong, necessarily – he may have a different way of communicating that we will need to learn. I have always imagined there was so much information coursing through his mind at all times that coherent speech would be impossible for him, so he remained silent and continues to."

Walter nodded. "Yes, that would make sense…"

"Walter. I feel somehow …very uncomfortable on this examination table. It isn't the table's texture – that, I am used to, but my body feels tense and my pulse feels uncomfortably fast as long as I am on it," Donald said.

"I suspect that is due to what you have endured in the Observers' laboratory. That's trauma. We can return to my apartment if you like," Walter replied.

"Where will he sleep? There are only two bedrooms."

Walter tapped his chin. "Well… I could sleep on the couch, he could use the room where you have been staying, and you could use mine."

Donald shook his head. "I will take the couch."

"You need space," Walter protested.

"I will be fine."

When they returned to the apartment, the boy went to sleep instantly. Donald sat with him for a while, feeling relief as he looked him over, but also guilt. "I am so sorry," he whispered.

"Donald!" Walter called out. "Come have some dinner."

Donald shuffled out into the hallway, leaning against the wall to avoid putting too much pressure on his sprained leg. "Isn't it a bit late?"

"Nonsense. It's been a very long day, particularly for _you_ , my friend. You need to replenish yourself."

"Fine," Donald said. He did feel hungry. He sat down at the table and Walter set a plate of baked salmon with vegetables in front of him. "…I don't believe I have eaten anything like this before. This is some sort of fish, correct?" The scent of salmon was very distinct, even in comparison to all the new smells he was growing used to.

"That you are! Try it. It has quite a bit of vitamin E – good for healing."

Donald took a forkful of the fish and cautiously put it in his mouth. It tasted oily, but not unpleasant. He enjoyed it. "It figures I should have trusted your judgment," he said, looking up at Walter, who smirked in return. When he finished, he leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes.

"You must be tired," Walter said. "I doubt even that morphine nap you took in the lab was sufficient rest to recharge from such an eventful day."

Donald nodded. "Could you help me to the couch?"

"I am not having you sleep there, Donald, I _will not_ allow it. It's too narrow – you could fall. Again! You don't need to fall a second time."

"But I have inconvenienced-"

"You most certainly have not. Come," Walter urged.

"Fine."

Walter wrapped his arm around Donald's waist and led him into his bedroom. He eased his friend onto the bed. Donald draped the covers over his body and closed his eyes. Moments later, he felt a weight on the bed, and he opened his eyes to see Walter. He felt confused, though not uneasy.

"I thought beds were for use by one person at a time," Donald said.

"That all depends on the size of the bed. This one has enough space to accommodate two individuals. As long as you're not uncomfortable with it, that is."

"I'm not. Not with you, that is…" Donald re-positioned himself to minimize his pain. Walter heard him whimper under his breath as he did this.

"More painkillers?" Walter asked.

"No. They made me feel strange."

"Ah, well. Probably a good thing – they're not something you want to take for long periods of time," Walter explained.

"I see."

As soon as Donald found his optimal position, his breathing slowed. Walter smiled at him, seized by a sense of kinship with the other man. They had both gone to great lengths to save their children – measures it was unlikely anyone else in the world, even the most devoted of ordinary parents, could say they had taken. He placed a hand on Donald's back and stroked up and down until he was certain his friend was fully asleep.

(A/N: The lyrics I have been tacking on to the beginning of chapters are all from Joanna Newsom's "Divers" concept album, which I would recommend to any fan of Fringe even if her voice takes some getting used to.)


End file.
